


Hermione & the Philosopher King

by alethioraven



Series: Afterwards [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Consensual Kink, F/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alethioraven/pseuds/alethioraven
Summary: This is a continuation of my story 'Afterwards.'  Hermione and Severus go to Venice where Hermione attends university and Severus goes to work for an influential count.  Their relationship takes a turn into the land of kink.  No consent violations here.  The kink will be a slow build with the romance continuing between Hermione and Severus.  Vanillas, feel free to dip your toes into the kinky side of the pool with this story, and your comments are always welcome.





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione arrives by portkey to St Mark’s Square in Venice with Severus.  She arrives in style, wearing elegant grey witch's robes and high dragon hide boots.  Her robes are modest, and scholarly- with a high flared collar and narrow v-neck, long fitted sleeves.  She wears a pair of simple black diamond studs in her ears and a black diamond solitaire tight against her throat.  They are spelled with translation charms, and are a gift from Severus.  While her robes are a nod to Wizarding tradition, her hair is cut short in a modern muggle style that accentuates her long, graceful neck.  

 

Hermione, surrounded by the sights of picturesque, historical Venice, has eyes only for her lover.  Snape is back in black robes, and it is a startling slight to Hermione.  She aches acutely for jeans and punk rock t shirt Severus.  What she has, at the moment, is Potions Master Snape.  But when he looks at her, his hard eyes soften a bit around the edges, and her heart stills in her chest.  It's still him.  

 

Severus turns to look at Hermione the moment they arrive in St Mark's Square.  She is already looking at him, her eyes wide and solemn.  He wonders how she is handling seeing her potions professor again.  He still hasn’t gotten used to her new look, although he encouraged it.  He doesn’t know if he prefers it, if he is being honest with himself.  He likes this girl with her wild curly hair and sexy muggle clothes.  He likes thumbing the button of her jeans suggestively, waiting for her to say ‘yes.’

 

But this Hermione, with her elegant witch's robes and modern muggle hair, sparkling black jewels and a serious expression on her face- he can only think of one word to describe this Hermione.  Powerful.  

 

He reaches his hand toward hers, but doesn’t take hold of it.  He holds his out and and waits for her.  She smiles at him then, and slides her small hand into his, moves to stand in front of him and tips her face up to his.   _ Kiss me, Severus,  _ she seems to be saying.  

 

Slowly, just in case he has misread her desire, he lowers his lips to hers.  Her posture, so stiff and proud, softens when he takes her in his arms. 

 

They are in a public square, surrounded by tourists and pigeons and other magical folk going about their business, so he doesn’t kiss her the way he would like.  His kiss is firm, but chaste, and he releases her after the span of a few quick breaths.  Still they turn a few heads- her obvious youth and beauty starkly contrasted against his dark, surly countenance.  He is only thirty nine, but the majority of his adult life has been spent as a spy or bent over a cauldron.  Neither are known for their anti-aging qualities, and Severus knows that his face- which has never been handsome- looks much older than it is.  

 

“Let's go to the jetty,” he says to Hermione, leading her in the direction of the water.  “The count will have sent a boat for us.”

 

The jetty in front of St Mark's is a riot of activity, with gondolas moored in neat rows between tall red and white striped poles.  

 

“There,” says Severus pointing to magnificent antique Cris Craft.  “It's flying the Count’s colors.”

 

They make their way to the vessel and are helped aboard with much fanfare by the captain.  They are seated in the teak and mahogany salon, and offered refreshment before they depart for Murano. 

 

Murano, Severus has explained to Hermione, is an island not far from Venice.  It is there where the famous Italian glass is made- by hand as it has been for hundreds of years.  Count Spumoni also serves as regent of Magical Murano, and is a very powerful Magical Noble in Venice.  Although the muggle republic of Venice has long since fallen, the Magical Republic of Venice is still independent from the Italian Ministry of Magic.  Venice is a great center of art, culture, and learning in the Magical World.  

 

The shining Cris Craft whisks them down the grand canal, and across a small protected bay to the isle of Murano.  They make their way up a large canal and stop in front of- well, Hermione can think of no other way describe the structure than a palace.  A small palace, but a palace nonetheless.  It has massive wooden double doors that open over stone steps that disappear into the canal.  As the Cris Craft approaches those steps, the doors open inward.  Someone has been anticipating their arrival. 

 

They are ushered inside and into a massive entrance hall.  At least a hundred witches and wizards mingle about.  It is all Hermione can do not to gape openly.  At the ornate columns and painted ceiling.  At the marble floors.  At the witches and wizards dressed in the most ornate robes she has ever seen.  Both men and women are powdered and made up.  The sight is a visual feast of opulence.  Hermione thought her robes were over the top.  Now she realizes their style of dress is understated in the extreme. 

 

A perfumed and powdered lackey escorts them through the crowd of courtiers with confident ease.  He is obviously important, as the decadently clad mass parts hurriedly for him.  The mass gapes openly at Severus and Hermione as they pass, making no effort to hide their curiosity. 

 

The lackey brings them to a smaller, but more ornate set of double doors.  He raps on them smartly with a cane and they open silently.  Hermione feels the unmistakable brush of magic.  A spell.  Severus, holding her hand tightly, pulls her into the room. 

 

“Potions Master Severus Tobias Snape,” calls the lackey, his voice resonating through both rooms.  “And a Miss Hermione Jean Granger, my Lord.”

 

The lackey steps out, and the doors swing quietly closed behind him.  

 

Severus and Hermione are standing in a smaller, but much more opulent receiving room.  There are more courtiers scattered about, although their demeanor is different.  Hermione can’t quite put her finger on the difference, but she can feel it. It is palpable.  

 

Count Spumoni, seated on a dais, is impossible to miss.  _ A fucking dais _ , thinks Hermione.   _ This is unreal.   _ The Count rises from his gilded ( _ gilded!)  _ chair, and calls out to them. 

 

“Severus!” he says, stepping down of the dais and motioning for them to approach.  “Twenty years of correspondence and I am only now making your acquaintance.”  Everything about the man is over the top.  His starched white hair piled up on his head. His ridiculous brocade robes and plethora of gold and jeweled rings on his fingers.  He moves with the obvious dignity of one used to decadence and power despite his massive stomach. 

 

Hermione wonders if they should bow as they approach him, but Severus puts out his hand.  There is a collective intake of breath from the onlookers.   _ Apparently he should have bowed.  _

 

“My Lord Spumoni,” says Severus in his softest, deadliest voice, “The pleasure is all mine.”

 

The Count hesitates for the barest of moments before taking Snape’s proffered hand.  

 

_ Well done, my love.  _ Hermione is cheering him on inside.  Severus has defied protocol and presented himself as the Count’s equal.   _ Spumoni must want Severus here very badly to endure such a slight.  _

 

When the Count lets go of Severus’ hand, he turns to Hermione.  “May I present Miss Hermione Granger, my protégé.”

 

The Count looks her up and down in a way that makes Hermione harden her expression and stare at the man coldly.  She nods to the Count, making no move to take his hand.

 

“Exquisite,” says the Count to Severus, as if she isn’t standing right there. “May I kiss her hand?”

 

“No,” replies Severus.  “I’m afraid I must insist that her person remain absolutely unmolested while she remains under your roof.”

 

The Count nods respectfully to Severus, as if to men discussing the body autonomy of a woman like she were property is a perfectly sensible thing to do. 

 

“I will personally make sure of it,” the Count says pompously.  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger.  You must be exhausted from your journey.  I’ll have my housekeeper prepare your private quarters forthwith.”

 

“No need, friend,” Severus says smoothly before the Count can lift his finger to summon his manservant.  “Miss Granger will be staying with me.”

 

The counts eyebrows go up at this and his expression is salacious.  “Your protégé and your lover, Professor Snape?  How delightfully uncouth.”

 

Hermione, completely at a loss, looks up at Severus.  “You’ll get used to him, my dear,” he says.  Then to the Count, “We are tired from our journey.  We will retire, and await your summons.”

 

“Splendid, Splendid,” says the Count, summoning his Manservant.  “Emilio will show you to your quarters.  I trust you will find them adequate to your needs.”

 

“You are most generous, my Lord,” replies Severus.  “I request the liberty to wander your palace and to come and go freely, for myself and Miss Granger.”

 

“Granted, my friend. I look forward to speaking with you in private once you have settled in.”

 

The exit the receiving room through a side door and are shown into an elevator. 

 

“Your quarters are on the third floor,” says Emilio, “East wing.  With a private terrace overlooking the canal.”

 

Emilio shows them to the ornate double doors of their new home, and hands Snape a golden skeleton key.  “There is a servant's bell in the entryway.  Ring any time of the day or night.”

 

“Thank you, Emilio,” Snape says, already turning away from him to open the door.  Hermione follows Snape inside.  She is expecting a riot of revolting opulence, and she is pleasantly surprised.  Quite the opposite, their quarters are all understated elegance. 

 

The palace is made of stone, present in graceful archways and around windows and doors.  The rest of the walls have been plastered in a tasteful off white.  The floor is dark wood, almost black with age.  The area rugs in every room are persian wool, in light, neutral colors.  The furniture is minimalist and modern.  Best of all, every wall is lined floor to ceiling with empty bookshelves.  

 

“What do you think?” Severus asks her.  He is a little nervous.  This is to be their home for the foreseeable future as long as Hermione wants to continue her studies at the university,  He wants- needs- her to like it. 

 

“It's lovely, Severus,” she says.  “I’m surprised.  You must have had some say in this?”

 

“I was quite specific in my requests, I assure you.  The best is here.” He leads her through a formal sitting and dining room into a marvelous kitchen.  It is full of modern appliances and has a lovely breakfast nook, as well as French doors leading onto the terrace. 

 

“There is a dining table on the terrace, as well,” he says.  Then, “I need to apologize for insinuating to the count that you are my property, Hermione.  It was necessary to prevent him from pursuing you- and he is a lecherous misogynist.  I will insist on him treating you like a human instead of a commodity to be bargained for, but it will take time.”

 

Hermione opens the French doors to venture onto the patio.  The view of the canal is spectacular.  “I found the whole exchange extremely distasteful, Severus.  I accept your apology, and thank you for protecting me.”

 

Severus joins her at the stone railing, putting his hand on her back and kissing her temple.  “I will always protect you.”

 

Hermione looks up at him.  “Show me the bedroom.”

 

The bedroom, and the bed in it, are enormous.  Styled the same way as the rest of the house, it is full of empty bookshelves.  It also has two enormous wardrobes, and French doors that lead out onto the patio.  

 

The bedroom is lovely, but it is the bathroom that has Hermione falling in love with their new home. A huge stone bathtub dominates the space.

 

“Oh,” says Hermione when they enter the bathroom.  “This is divine.”

 

Hermione’s robes button up the back from her waist to her high collar.  Wordlessly, Severus turns on the bath and begins to unbutton them.  Hermione closes her eyes and enjoys the sensation of his fingers brushing her skin as he removes her robes.  His motions are practiced and unhurried.  

 

When he has her completely naked, all clothes banished to the wardrobe, he motions for her to get in the tub.  “Will you allow me to bathe you?” he asks, as he begins to remove his own garments. 

 

Hermione looks at him.  They have never bathed together.  The bathroom at Spinner’s End was barely adequate for one person.  “Okay,” says Hermione, not quite what to make of his offer.  She hasn’t been bathed by another person since she was a child. 

 

She watches him undress.  She still hasn’t seen him completely naked that many times.  If he can find a way to keep his clothes on during sex, he does.  She hasn’t pushed the issue on him yet.  She wants to give him the chance to get used to being naked around her. 

 

Severus is beautiful naked, like a white marble statue of a Roman charioteer.  His scars, however, are gruesome, disfiguring even.  He is missing a nipple.  She hasn’t asked how he received the scars, but it's not hard to guess.  Hermione has scars like that of her own, after all.  

 

When he is free from his clothes Hermione stares unabashedly at him, drinking him in.  Her eyes linger hungrily on his erectiion.  

 

“What are you staring at, Miss Granger?” Severus teases her as he joins her in the tub. 

 

“Your cock,” she replies.  She has learned that the more direct she is about her desire, the more aroused Severus becomes. 

 

He chuckles darkly.  “Turn around and face me, I want to start with your feet.”

 

Hermione turns around so that she is facing him in the massive tub. He uses the soap from a glass bottle to soap a wash cloth and then, grasping her firmly by the ankle, begins to wash her feet. 

 

At first it tickles, and she twitches, but he just holds onto her ankle more firmly.  Soon, his touch has her groaning with pleasure.  His hands are therapeutic.  She closes her eyes as his hands move from her feet to her legs, moving steadily toward the junction of her thighs.  She feels herself growing aroused with anticipation.  But he stops before he gets to the good part.   _ Damn.  _

 

“Turn around.”

 

She complies, and he pulls her into his chest, wrapping his legs around hers.  His erection feels delicious pressed into the small of her back.  He starts with her hands, which Hermione finds almost embarrassingly intimate.  Then her arms and shoulders.  When he gets to her breasts, massaging them with his hands, gently tugging at her nipples, she sighs and leans her head back, closing her eyes. 

 

Eyes still closed, Hermione feels his hands on her inner thighs, gently parting her legs.  She tilts her hips and lifts her knees up, giving him better access to herself.  When she does this, she feels his cock twitch violently against her.  He grunts his approval, setting aside the washcloth and soaping up his hands. 

 

Hermione reaches up and interlaces her fingers around the back of his neck as his fingers begin to methodically explore her folds.  She writhes under his touch when his fingertip finds her clit and flicks over it with gentle, feather light touches.  She feels him reach underneath her and cup her ass in his hand; his fingertips find her tight little pucker there and begin to massage it softly.  

 

Hermione goes completely still. He hasn’t ventured back into this territory since that first time, when she was bent over his kitchen table.  She still doesn’t know how she feels about this.  She can’t deny it feels good, but it is deeply embarrassing to her.  Even now, as he stimulates her clit with one hand, and her asshole with the other, she feels her whole body flush with embarrassment.  

 

“Why are you embarrassed, love?” He asks her softly, continuing his gentle touching. 

 

“It's my butt,” she says, “It's embarrassing.”

 

“You know all you have to do is tell me to stop.  But I know you like it.  I can feel how much you like it.”  He dips his right hand lower, dragging his fingers through her folds and reveling in her wetness.  He increases the pressure with his left hand, and feels her smallest hole relax in response.  He slips the tip of his index finger into her ass.  “We’ve done this part before, sweetheart, remember?  Remember how hard you came?”

 

“Yes,” she groans.  “I like it, I’m just embarrassed.”

 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.  The tip of his left index finger is fucking her ass now, the tip of his right flicking gently back and forth across her clit. 

 

“God's, no,” she says.  “If you keep that up I’m going to come in your hands.”

 

“I know,” he says, letting his finger slide a little deeper into her.  

 

“Remember the first time we made love? I put my fingers inside you first.  Remember the first time I fucked your mouth?  I put my finger in it first.”  He can hear her heart pounding.   _ Any second now.   _ She begins to whimper.  “Put your knees down, love, it will make it easier for you to come.”  She moves her knees forward to a more natural position. 

 

“I put my finger in your ass for two reasons,” he says, continuing his previous thought. “First and foremost because you like it.  But also, I do it to let you know I want to fuck you in your ass.”  He continues to work the tip of his finger in and out of her.  He wants to go deeper, but he can’t without proper lubrication.  He increases the pressure on her clit.  She is right on the edge. “Does the thought of me fucking you in the ass turn you on?”

 

“Yes,” she moans, “Fuck, Severus, I’m coming.”

 

“You are such a good girl,” he says, low and soft in her ear as she comes apart in his hands. 

 

When the last of her tremors are past, she lifts her head off his shoulder.  “God's, Severus,” she says again. 

 

“Let me wash your hair,” he says in reply, “And then we can get out.”

 

His hands feel absolutely divine in her hair.  When he is finished, they get out and he proceeds to dry her off, with a towel, from head to toe.  It's been years since Hermione has used a towel.  She has forgotten how good it feels.  _ It feels good because it's him.  _

 

“Careful, I could get used to this,” she teases him as he rubs her down with the towel. 

 

“I hope you do,” he says, dead serious.  “If you let me I’ll do it every day.”

 

_ Wow.  Maybe living with Count Ice Cream has its perks after all.   _ “Are you going to make love to me now, Severus?” she asks as they make their way back into the bedroom. 

 

“Would you like me to?” he asks her playfully. 

 

“Yes, sir,” she replies.  She turns around then, and, finding herself face to face with him, reaches out and takes ahold of his marvelously erect cock.  She grasps it at the base, finding that her thumb and forefinger can’t wrap all the way around it.  She looks up at him. 

 

He is looking down at her, a stern expression on his face.  “Let go of my cock, get on the bed, and spread your legs for me Miss Granger.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says again, giving his cock a defiant little squeeze before releasing it and climbing up on the huge bed.  She crawls up to the headboard, listening for the quick intake of breath through his nose when she gets up on all fours and rotates her hips toward him, giving him a view of her wet pussy.   _ Right on cue.   _ She turns over, lying on her back obediently with her head on a pillow.  She spreads her legs slowly for him, locking eyes with him.  He holds her gaze for a breath, then his eyes wander down her body to settle between her legs. 

 

He joins her on the bed, kneeling between her legs.  He grasps her knees in his hands, parting her legs further, watching her folds pull apart for him.  His cock jumps in anticipation.  Hermione is watching him, playfulness gone, her face full of frank desire.   _ Not yet _ he tells his cock firmly, and bends to taste her. 

 

Severus could worship at this alter all day.  He has told her that, but he’s not sure she believes him.  One day he hopes he can prove it to her.  For now, he takes his time tasting her.  He has given her enough time from her last orgasm, he can already tell from her response that this second one won’t be difficult.  

 

He relaxes into a steady rhythm of licks that he knows she likes, gentle, easy, affectionate.  He gives her body plenty of time to respond to the sensation, and waits until he feels her start to tremble and her breathing begin to increase.  Then he stops, and- kissing and nibbling his way up her body- settles on op of her.  

 

She brings her knees up, and she sighs when the head of his cock settles at her entrance. His stomach does a little flip when he hears that sigh.  It's a happy, comfortable, contented sigh.  It's a sound she makes when she feels safe.  He cups her face in his hands and kisses her as tenderly as he knows how.  

 

She wraps her arms around his neck and flexes her hips against his cock. “Please,” she whispers, looking up at him. 

 

The corners of his mouth twitch up.  “This is the first time I haven’t prenetrated you with my fingers first, sweetheart.  Try to stay relaxed and tell me if I hurt you.”

 

“Okay,” she says.  She takes a deep breath, and as she lets it out, he pushes all the way into her.  She gasps at the intrusion, and he stills inside her. 

 

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his no nonsense tone demands an honest answer. 

 

“No,” she says, then, “almost.  Go slow.”

 

He kisses her mouth and begins to move in and out of her, long and slow.  She is still and quiet for a few strokes, and he almost stops.  But then he feels a fresh rush of wetness and she begins to moan softly in his ear.  She adjusts her hips slightly so he is against her clit when he presses into her.  Keeping his pace slow, he reaches his right hand up to the headboard for the leverage and increases the force of his penetration.  Hermione’s moans increase dramatically, and she begins to writhe underneath him.  _ Any moment now.  _

 

“I’m close, Severus,” she says, breathless.  “I want you to come with me.  Can you?”

 

He grunts an affirmation, moving his left hand from her cheek to the back of her head, taking her by the hair.  

 

Hermione feels him take her by the hair and moans in pleasure.  She spreads her legs even further for him as his firm thrusts become pounding blows.  His hold on her hair is the only thing keeping her head from slamming into the headboard.  Then he dips his head to his shoulder and bites her there.  Just as she registers the pain of the bite- it is not gentle- she feels her core explode and she is spiraling into an orgasm, clutching Severus against her with arms and legs and saying his name over and over again.  She feels him tense against her and then jerk as his own orgasm overtakes them.  

 

Later, cradled in his arms, Hermione regains the power of speech.  “How am I going to be able to leave this bed and go to school with you in it?” she says. 

 

“How about I promise to make love to you every time you come back?” he replies. 


	2. 2

“Why are you here, Miss Granger?”

 

Hermione is in a large auditorium at the College of Transfiguration.  She stands before a panel of seven wizards, one of which is the Dean.

 

“I’m here to learn, Professor,” Hermione replies easily.

 

“Why Venice? Why not Oxford?”

 

Hermione reminds herself not to fidget.  She considers her answer for a moment, and then decides to go with the truth.  “My face and name are well known to the the British Wizarding community, sir.  The best thing for my continuing education is to study elsewhere.  The University of Venice is as good or better than Oxford, Professor.  My education certainly won’t suffer from leaving Great Britain.”

 

The Dean nods at this.  “On this we are agreed, Miss Granger.”  Then he holds up the latest copy of the Daily Prophet.  Her heart sinks.  Plastered on the front cover is a picture of Severus Kissing her in St Mark’s Square.  Underneath, the caption reads: SCANDAL IN VENICE _Gryffindor Princess Hermione Granger spotted in Venice with pardoned Death Eater Severus Snape._

 

“It seems your face and name are still very much of interest to Wizarding Britain _,_ Miss Granger.  Do you have anything to say about this?”

 

“I think it is a sad state of affairs, Professor, when a salacious gossip story is on the front page of a national publication.  Surely there must be more pressing news in Britain than the fact that a man was seen kissing me in Venice.”

 

“All well and good, Miss Granger, but do you have a response for the accusations made in the article against yourself and Severus Snape?”

 

“As I haven’t read the article in question, Professor, it is impossible for me to have a response. I’m not in the habit of reading anything written by that particular journalist, especially if it is about myself or people I know.”

 

“And why is that Miss Granger?”

 

“Because she has had a personal vendetta against me ever since I kept her in a glass jar for most of my fourth year at Hogwarts.”

 

This gets the attention of everyone in the room.

 

“Explain.”

 

“It was the year that Hogwarts hosted the tri-wizard tournament.  Rita Skeeter was given access to the champions at Hogwarts and was writing awful lies about me, and other students.  I discovered that she was an unregistered animagus, and managed to trap her in a glass jar in her animal form.  I kept her in the jar until the end of term.  She hasn’t been too keen on me since then, I’m afraid, sir.”

 

“I uh, see,” says the Dean.  “I will just ask you:  What is your relationship with Potions Master Severus Snape?”

 

“Excuse me?” Hermione replies, shocked. “This is an academic admissions interview, sir.  With all due respect, I fail to see how my personal life is in any way relevant to these proceedings.”

 

“We are here to determine your character as well as your abilities, Miss Granger.”

 

She gives him a look, carefully keeping her face impassive. “I don’t discuss private matters in a public or professional setting, Professor.  I’m afraid that is the only answer I can give you.”

 

“Very well,” replies the dean, “Let's move on to the practical examination.  Professor Moretti?”  He motions to a diminutive man in glasses at the end of the long table.

 

Hermione relaxes a bit.  This next part should make up for her refusal to talk about her love life.   _If they refuse to admit me after this, I’ll know that Venice was the wrong choice._

 

Two grueling hours later, Hermione sits outside the auditorium waiting for them to decide her fate.  Severus is waiting for her across the quad in a small Cafe.  She wishes he were sitting next to her, but considering- well, she knows it's a bad idea. She sends her otter to him, anyway.  ‘Just waiting on their decision now.  They asked me about my relationship with you! Can you believe it?’

 

A few minutes later Severus storms into the entrance hall, black robes billowing behind him.  “They asked you what?”  he says when he is standing over her, furious.

 

“They asked what my relationship with you was,” Hermione says, looking up at him.  Furious Snape in his billowing black robes is a bit frightening.  

 

“What was your reply?”

 

“I refused to answer, naturally,” Says Hermione, a little smirk on her face.

 

His expressions softens just a bit.  “Good for you.  It's really outrageous that they even asked.”

 

“Agreed,” says Hermione, lips pursed.  

 

“They won't refuse you, love.  They just wanted to make you sweat a little I expect,” he says reassuringly.  Hermione is occluding, but she loves the way he still knows what she is thinking in moments like this.

 

“You think?” she says, and he nods.  “Good.  I think I’m going to like it here.”

 

The door from the auditorium opens.  “Miss Granger, the panel is ready for you.”

 

Hermione stands, then turns to Severus.  “Come with me,” she says impulsively.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Fuck ‘em,” she says, under her breath so that only he can hear.

 

They walk down the aisle to the front of the auditorium together.  When Hermione stands in front of the panel, Severus stands behind her.  Slowly, deliberately, he puts a hand on her shoulder.  The gesture is reassuring and possessive.  Hermione stares across the table at the Dean.

 

“Miss Hermione Jean Granger,” he says formally, “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the University of Venice as a student of the college of Transfiguration.”

 

“Thank you, sirs and madam,” Hermione says the the panel.  “I am humbled by the opportunity to continue my education here in Venice.”

 

“You are most welcome, Miss Granger,” says the Dean.  “And welcome Professor Snape. We have heard a rumor you will be teaching at the college of potions next term.  Is there any truth to it?”

 

“News travels fast here, I see,” Snape says, managing to sound bored and a bit disdainful all at once.  “I have only just now left the office of the Dean, but yes, I will be teaching a course on the development and brewing of the wolfsbane potion.”

 

The Dean nods to Snape and turns back to Hermione.  “Term starts September the first, see the registrar no later than August 30th.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” she says again.  

 

“What courses should I take?” Hermione asks Severus when they are seated in a little Cafe for lunch.  

 

Severus hesitates, and the waiter shows up with a lovely bottle of prosecco. When the waiter leaves, Hermione looks at him pointedly, waiting for a reply.  

 

“That is entirely up to you,” he demures.

 

Hermione sighs. She reaches across the table and takes his hand. “I get it, Severus, I do. I know you want me to decide for myself, and I will. But you are my teacher and my mentor and I trust you and respect your opinion.  I know you have one. Why not give it to me?”

 

Severus frowns. “It's complicated.” He pauses.  She sees that he has more to say and sips her wine patiently.  He continues. “I am loathe to tell you what to do in any aspect of your life, Hermione.”

 

“Why? You’re brilliant and experienced and you love me and have my best interests at heart. Who better to give me advice?” Hermione is truly perplexed by him.

 

“Because if you give me an inch I’ll take a mile, Miss Granger,” he says softly.  He reaches into his robes, and she feels him cast _muffliato._ “My instinct, my drive, my darkest desire will always be to control you.  If you let me, or if I let myself, I would control every aspect of your life.  It is in my nature, it is who I am.  And you are _far_ too susceptible to my influence.  You gave me complete control of your life this year at Hogwarts.  I’m a sick bastard, Hermione, believe me- I got off on it.”  He takes a sip of his prosecco and studies the menu, giving her some time to absorb what he has said.

 

“You did nothing but help me this year at school, Severus,” she says.

 

“Whether I helped you or not is irrelevant. The point is I got off on controlling you. The fact that you let me was one of the plethora of things that attracted me to you.”

 

The waiter arrives and they order lunch.  All the while Hermione is ruminating of what Severus just said to her.  It feels important; she wants to understand what is important to him.  

 

“That I ‘let you,’” she repeats, emphasizing his words.  “Would it turn you on to simply force me to do your bidding?”

 

His face goes perfectly blank, and she knows she has struck a nerve. She is beginning to realize he does that when he is being careful to master his emotions.  

 

“No,” he says.

 

Hermione mulls this over, drinking her wine slowly.  It really is lovely, a perfect compliment to the seafood dish she has ordered. She nods, looking back up at him. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Can we continue this later?”

 

Severus smiles. _She is learning to be thoughtful and cautious._ “Of course, sweetheart. And I’ll give you some general advice for the term if you like.”

 

“Please,” she says.

 

“Take your time and look over the syllabi of all the colleges. Find what interests you, and then look at the prerequisites for those courses.  For your first few terms, try to get most of those prerequisites out of your way. They will be fairly easy. Also-” he stops here, as their food has arrived.

 

“Also?” Hermione says as soon as the waiter leaves.

 

Severus raises an eyebrow at her and looks pointedly at her lunch.  She picks up a fork and rolls her eyes at him.

 

“I am aware of the irony, Miss Granger.  Eat your food.  Also- if you are interested in gaining access to the Count’s library you may want to consider taking a position as my assistant.  The salary is generous, and I promise I won’t be too demanding on your time.”

 

Hermione smiles at him.  “I was really hoping you would ask me.  Of course I want to work with you, Severus.”

 

“I’d like you to assist with my course as well, you know the wolfsbane potion better than anyone save myself.”

 

“Is that going to raise some eyebrows?”

 

Severus shrugs. “What else is new? You’re my ex student, my current student, my protégé, my employee, and my lover.  I don’t think we could be any more inappropriate if we tried.  People will talk, but you are brilliant and you will soon be raising eyebrows for more than just loving your ugly old professor.” He smiles to soften the comment. “As I said, they will soon find out that I am the least interesting thing about you. From there on out I think it will be relatively smooth sailing for us.”

 

“I'm excited to work with you,” Hermione says. “I just have one request.”

 

“What is that?”

 

“Will you have an office at the college?”

 

He nods.

 

“Promise me you’ll fuck me on your desk.”

 

“I promise.”


	3. And a search for the Crumple Horned Snorkack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I have taken a lover here on the island and he is taking up much of my time. He is the anti-snape: short, stocky, with the most beautiful deep red brown skin. He has an easy, confident smile and he is comfortable in his own skin. He is a 55 year old boat captain and his hands are wonderfully calloused, not at all elegant, and feel amazing on my skin. He speaks about ten words of English, but his eyes are wonderfully communicative. So please forgive me my indulgence. I promise I will write more in the upcoming days.

The summons comes that afternoon.  Hermione and Severus are finally settled into their living quarters.  The oversized rooms feel more homey - with the bookshelves full in every room, it feels like a bigger and slightly more opulent version of Spinner’s End.  Severus has fallen back into the habit of cooking most of their meals, but the servant’s bell in the entrance hall has its uses.  

 

A messenger boy arrives, out of breath, to escort them to the count’s private quarters for an audience.  Well, he arrives to escort Severus to the count.  Severus politely informs the messenger that he will not attend the count without Hermione present.  The boy looks absolutely horrified, but- seeing no other opinion- agrees.

 

If the Count is surprised by Hermione’s appearance he gives no indication of it, greeting them warmly as they are shown into his private sitting room by the messenger boy. “My potion’s master and his lovely protégé Come in, sit down!” He motions to the servants to pour them wine.

 

Hermione sits next to Snape on a chaise, and politely tastes the proffered wine.  It is of high quality, she supposes, but too decadent to her taste, sweet and full and grapey.  It is a languid summer afternoon on some country noble’s estate.  She much prefers the rustic spanish wines that Severus has taught her to love.  

 

The count turns to Hermione first, to her surprise.  “And what do you think of the wine, Miss Granger?”

 

She raises and eyebrow at the count, careful not to smile.  “Decadent,” she says, holding his eyes with hers.  “Jeweled footfalls on a bright green manicured lawn.  Perfectly cultivated roses and the contrived laughter and whispered insults of bored nobility attending a garden party at your country estate.” 

 

The Count’s perfectly shaped and penciled eyebrows rise up into his powdered forehead in genuine surprise, his painted lips twitch upward in amusement.  “She is like a beautiful version of you, Snape!  How refreshing!  You, Miss Granger, are neither boring nor nobility and I think that we shall get along most splendidly.” 

 

He says this as if he is conferring some great honor upon her.  She is tempted to say something cutting about getting along going both ways but, wisely, restrains herself. She gives him a small, contrived smile, nods, and turns her gaze up to Severus. He drapes his arm around the back of the chaise behind her, and places his fingertips at the nape of her neck above her collar.

 

Hermione feels approval, reassurance, and possessiveness in the gesture.  She wonders if they are communicating magically somehow, or if they are just in tune with one another.  

 

“Miss Granger is the joy of my entire existence,” Severus says to the Count. “She possesses an intellect that rivals my own, and many qualities of which I am lacking. She will also be my assistant for the duration of my employment with you.”

 

The Count nods at Severus, acknowledging the change in subject to the business at hand.  

 

“This is when I tell you why you are here, hmm?” asks the Count.

 

“If you feel so inclined,” replies Severus smoothly, “We can go to work on accomplishing your objectives.”

 

The Count summons the servant to refill their wine goblets, then has him leave the decanter on the table before banishing every human from the room save themselves.

 

“Shall we- how do the Americans say- cut to the chase?” he laughs at his own joke.  Hermione and Severus wait patiently, Hermione’s face is schooled into polite interest.  Severus looks bored.  “I am getting old,” says the Count.  “I am beginning to feel my mortality.  I want your help in countering this.  I have heard a rumor, Snape, that the Dark Lord had you researching a way to counter the death curse.”

 

Hermione feels Severus’ fingers grip her neck a little firmly, but outwardly that is his only sign of alarm.  Inside, he is reeling.  He thought he would be onhand to brew silly extravagances and lend credibility to the Count’s carefully crafted false reputation as an intellectual.

 

“He did ask it of me. Naturally, I was loathe to do as he wished.”

 

“Still,” says the Count, “You must have made some progress, even if you didn’t tell him.  The Dark Lord was an accomplished legilimens- surely you did not risk defying him entirely.”

 

“You are wise, My Lord,” says Severus blandly.  “I did some initial inquiry, although my research was far from producing any viable results at the time of the Dark Lord’s demise.”

 

“I would like you to carry on with that research, Master Snape.  And you will inform me of your needs.”

 

Severus nods.

 

“Now,” says the Count, rising from his chair.  Severus and Hermione quickly follow him.  “For your second task we must visit the library.”

 

Hermione reminds herself to mask her excitement.  It won’t do, she knows, to reveal her weaknesses to a powerful, vain man seeking immortality.  And - besides Severus - books are her greatest weakness.

 

After taking the lift to the ground floor of the palace, they traverse numerous back corridors (‘to avoid pesky nobles’) and emerge in an ornate entrance hall on the other side of the castle.  The door to the library is small and wooden.  Hermione would not have noticed it if it weren’t for the guards.  The smarten up and salute as the count approaches in his mincing- but somehow still dignified- stride.  The library door swings open of its own accord to admit the Count. 

 

The room behind the door is an odd, little room.  An odd, little room with no books save for one: a giant old tome rests on a table.  In front of the table, a big leather chair.  On the other side of the room, another unremarkable door.  

 

“Remarkable,” says Severus quietly, immediately moving across the room to the tome on the table.  “May I?” he asks the count.

 

The count gestures gracefully for Severus to proceed.  Severus pulls out the big leather chair.  “Come and sit down, love,” he says to Hermione.  She does.

 

Severus opens the giant tome, flipping through the pages.  It is in Italian; Severus reaches into his robes and produces a pair of ordinary looking wire rimmed spectacles.  He holds them out to Hermione.  She puts them on.   _ ah.  translation charm.   _ Now, the tome appears to be written in English.  

 

Hermione gasps with delight when she realizes that the tome contains, and the significance of the insignificant door.  The tome is simply a list of subject upon subject, all in alphabetical order.  Next to each subject is a number.  Hermione looks carefully at the little door across the room.  The door knob isn’t just a door knob, but a dial.  

 

She flips through the tome at random, and finds the listing:  _ History, Venice: 37.   _ She stands, moves across the room the the insignificant door.  Around the doorknob are a series of numbers; the doorknob has a brass needle like that of a compass, but stationary.  She adjusts the needle to the number thirty seven, then gives the door a gentle push.  

 

Inside, a world of magical knowledge is laid out before Hermione.  The library is tall and arched like a cathedral, and Hermione agrees with the sentiment behind the architecture.  It is three stories tall, with balconies lining the walls on either side above her head.  In front, where the altar would be, an enormous reading desk.  And in front of the desk, floor to ceiling windows.  

 

Hermione gasps in amazement, then laughs at herself.  The windows are obviously enchanted to show whatever view a person wishes to see.  To welcome Hermione and Severus to this church of knowledge, the count has enchanted the window with a view of hogwarts castle, reflected perfectly in the calm waters of the black lake.

 

“How many rooms?” Hermione says it quietly, more to herself than to the count.

 

The count answers her anyway.  “More than a thousand, Miss Granger.” His voice is very close behind her, and it takes her everything she has not to startle at his close proximity. 

 

She feels Severus move in behind her, between her and the count.  He puts his arms around her shoulders and she relaxes into him with a soft sigh.  “It is the largest known depository of magical knowledge,” he says to her, his voice soft and low.  

 

The count stands off to the side, watching the Potions Master whisper to his protégé.  “Your Master is a very dangerous man, Miss Granger, yet you do not flinch from him.”

 

“Love is more powerful than fear, Lord Spumoni.”  There is a finality in her tone that forbids further conversation on the topic. 

 

The count lets it rest. “Come, then, I have something truly astounding to show you.”

 

They return to the antechamber.  This time, the count takes the doorknob in his hand and turns the needle to room six hundred and thirty seven.  He gives the door a gentle push and it swings silently open.  

 

The room the enter seems exactly the same as the previous.  Same long tall arched room, same balconies, same window with a view of Hogwarts.  In the front of the room, instead of a desk, is a massive stone tablet. 

 

Hermione is only vaguely curious until she feels Severus go still as a statue beside her.  He even stops breathing for a moment. She looks up at his face, as still as the stone in front of them, a carved marble bust. Then she sees his nostrils flare. He is inhaling very slowly.  

 

“Is that-  _ The Emerald Tablet,  _ my Lord?” Severus says softly, reverently.  All his carefully constructed artifice is gone from his face.  His expression is that of a pilgrim, crawling on his knees to the remains of St James in the great cathedral at Santiago de Compostela.  

 

“Yes indeed, my friend.”  The count begins to walk up the gallery to the tablet, Severus and Hermione follow.

 

“It was said to be destroyed by Diocletian in the third century,” replies Severus, regaining his composure as they approach.

 

“Diocletian had a wizard in his entourage who recognized the contents of the tablet and saved it.  That is what I have been told.”

 

“Is this the primary source material used by Nicholas Flamel in his creation of the Philosopher’s Stone?”  Hermione asks, her eyes devouring the hieroglyphs and other magical symbols covering the tablet.

 

“Ten points to Gryffindor!” says the count, laughing at his own joke. 

 

“So,” says Severus blandly, “You want me to make you the philosopher’s stone and also make you immune to the death curse?  Anything else?  Find the crumple-horned snorkack in my spare time?”

 

“Always the dour fellow, isn’t he?” the count says conspiratorially to Hermione.  “How can you stand his lack of cheer?”

 

Hermione raises an eyebrow at the count.  “He has his redeeming qualities.” 

 

Hermione sees Severus’ lip twitch at that.  It was almost a smile.  

 

“Can you think of a better wizard to study this tablet, Snape?  If so, I’m all ears.”

 

“Several,” says Snape, a deep frown on his face.  “Shall I write you a list?”

 

The count shakes his head at this.  “I, myself, can think of no better man than you.”

 

“There is your mistake then, my Lord, as you are leaving out slightly more than half of the entire wizarding population.” Hermione smiles a bit at this. “If it is your wish that Miss Granger and I decipher the tablet, we shall decipher the tablet.  Might I suggest that you also have me make any number of frivolous potions for you and those highly favored in your court?  It won’t do to have half of Venice suspicious about my presence here.”

 

“I assure you, Master Snape, more than half of Venice is already suspicious about your arrival here.  But of course.  Half my court is eager to curry favor with you.”

 

“Have them curry favor with you instead,” Snape says, his lip curling as if he has something distasteful in his mouth.  “Send me the ones who succeed. I will not brew love potions, felix felicious, or truth serum.”

 

The count frowns at this.  “Really, Snape, I meant to talk to you about-”

 

Severus cuts him off. “I made it clear in my letter, my lord.  Respectfully, there will be no discussion.”

 

The count looks extremely unhappy, but he bows his head in acquiescence.  “Fine.  Make me immortal and I will have no need of luck, at least. I’m afraid love and truth may always elude me.”

 

“As they do us all, in one way or another, my lord,” Snape replies smoothly. Hermione wonders if this is the way he spoke to Voldemort.  He begins to make his way to the exit, Hermione follows just behind his elbow, and the count trails after them.

  
Later, back in their quarters, Severus sinks into a deep leather chair with an uncharacteristically dramatic sigh.  “A pompous megalomaniac wants me to make him immortal,” he says.  “What could possibly go wrong?”


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

“A pompous megalomaniac wants me to make him immortal,” Severus says.  “What could possibly go wrong?”

 

“How long can we string him along before he wants results?” Hermione calls from the bedroom.  She is changing out of her robes and into a pair of jeans and a tank top.  It's her way of telling Severus she wants to stay in for the rest of the evening.  

 

“Indefinitely, I suppose.  On some level he must know he is asking the improbable, if not the impossible.  What are you doing in there?”

 

“Just getting changed,” Hermione says, emerging from the bedroom barefoot in her muggle clothes.  Her jeans are a little loose, slung low on her hips, and her tank top is clingy soft pink, almost translucent.  She isn’t wearing a bra. 

 

Severus looks at her hungrily from where he is seated in his favorite leather chair.  “You look obscenely young when you dress like that, Miss Granger.” Her nipples are stiff little points poking through the soft fabric of her tank top.

 

“Do you want me to change, Professor?” Hermione asks, her eyes wide and innocent. 

 

“No.” His voice is stern, almost menacing.  “I want you to come here.”  

 

If he had used that tone with her a year ago, Hermione would have been quaking in fear.  Now, she is trembling with anticipation as she approaches him. 

 

Severus stands up from the chair, unbuttoning his robes with ruthless efficiency.  As soon as they drop from his shoulders they vanish to his wardrobe.  It is an impressive piece of wandless magic, and Hermione blinks in surprise. He is looming over her now, all black clothes and sharp angles, a deep scowl on his face. 

 

She looks at him, no longer pretending.  Her heart is pounding in her chest. 

 

Still scowling at her, he brings a hand up between them and barely brushes the pad of his thumb against her nipple.  “Your tits are truly exquisite, Miss Granger.  Are you deliberately trying to entice your surly old Professor?”  He gives her nipple a quick sharp pinch between his thumb and forefinger. 

 

Hermione gives a little gasp of surprise at the pain.  “Ow,” she says softly, but doesn’t pull away from his hand.  The crotch of his pants twitches visibly at her remark.  She stares at it unabashed. 

 

“Does ‘ow’ mean ‘no,’ Miss Granger?” He growls. 

 

“No, sir… OW!”  He pinches her nipple again, harder this time.  

 

Despite his surly countenance, Severus is watching Hermione very carefully.  She is looking up at him, her face an exquisite mix of pain, confusion, and longing.  He takes a long slow moment to revel in the scents and sounds of her arousal. Her eyes are bright, perhaps with a few unshed tears.   _ Be careful with her, you sadistic fuck,  _ he admonishes himself. 

 

Severus sighs, and the menacing expression vanishes from his face.  He gathers Hermione up into his arms and pulls her down into the chair with him.  She is curled up in his lap, clinging to his neck.  

 

He cups her face against him gently, kissing her temple, but it is difficult to be convincingly comforting when his erection is jammed into her ass.  She doesn’t seem to mind though- she is making cute little cooing noises.  Before long she adjusts her position on his lap so she can press back against his cock.

 

He trails a string of soft kisses from her jaw, down her neck, to her collarbone.  She sighs and tips her head back.  He pulls the strap of her tank top off her shoulder and exposes her smarting nipple, kissing and licking it gently in a belated apology. 

 

“Is it sore?” he asks her. 

 

“No,” she replies firmly.  “Severus, I  _ really _ need you to fuck me now.  Please.”

 

He gives her ass a playful squeeze.  “Stand up, then.”

 

She disentangles herself from his lap and stands before him.  He leans forward, thumbing the button of her jeans.  

 

“Take of your shirt,” he tells her as he unzips her pants and pulls them down her legs.  She is deliciously bare underneath them.  “No panties, Miss Granger? What kind of girl comes before her portions professor with her tits showing and wearing no panties?”

 

“A girl who wants her potions professor to fuck her, sir,” she replies with a smirk, stepping out of her jeans.  She is fully naked now. 

 

“What a filthy mouth.”  He stands up in one quick movement, suddenly looming over her. “Get on your knees, Miss Granger. We will see how well you can talk back to me with your mouth full.”

 

Hermione sinks down to the soft carpet, spreading her knees the way he likes, and looks up at him obediently. 

 

“That's better,” he says, unzipping his trousers and pulling his cock out.  He grasps himself in his right hand, and takes Hermione by her hair with his left. When he gathers a fistful of hair at the back of her neck and pulls her head back, she gasps with pleasure and opens her mouth.  He puts his cock in it without preamble. 

 

Severus wants to fuck her mouth properly, hard and long until the saliva streams down her chin and drips on her tits, but he doesn’t think he can last that long.  Still, he takes her mouth more roughly than he has in the past, watching her face and body carefully for signs of distress.  Hermione is not distressed.  She is relaxed and moaning; he watches her hand stray between her thighs as she begins to touch herself.  It's too much for him, and he pulls out of her mouth swiftly with a curse. 

 

“Get in the chair,” he says to her as she looks up at him questioningly, still touching herself. She crawls up into the chair.  “Sit right on the edge.  Feet up, legs spread.  Show me how wet your pussy is.”

 

She lifts her legs up and apart for him, on hand on each thigh.  His black gaze is locked on the sight of those wet lips parting, enticing him.  

 

She slides her hands further down her thighs and slowly, a little shyly, parts herself for him with dainty fingers.  

 

Severus groans and, unable to keep from touching her any longer, reaches out with one long elegant finger and inserts it slowly until it is buried to the last knuckle.  This time, it is Hermione’s turn to groan.  He removes the finger, and she groans again, this time in protest.  

 

Severus looks up at her.  “Keep that wet pussy spread open for me, Miss Granger.”

 

“Yes sir,” she says, pulling those swollen lips still further apart.  Her clit, swollen and hard, seems to be straining toward him.  He dips his head between her parted thighs and drops a gentle kiss on that little nub. 

 

Hermione’s whole body trembles at that kiss. “Please,” she whispers.  

 

He knows she wants his finger back inside her, but he doesn’t give it to her.  He does shower her splayed open pussy with little playful kisses before returning to her click to lick her in earnest.  This time he keeps at it, allowing the tension to build inside her.  When her body has had enough time to respond to the stimulation, he feels her orgasm starting to build: the increased breathing, her heart speeding up, body temperature rising slightly.

 

He stops, and pulls her hands away gently.  “Are you close?” he asks her, knowing the answer already. 

 

“Yes, sir,” she breathes, her chest heaving slightly. 

 

He stands up on his knees, leaning over her.  He presses the head of his cock up against her clit.  

 

“Are you going to be a good girl and let your professor fuck your tight little pussy?” he says, moving the head of his cock back and forth against her clit.

 

“Please fuck me, Professor.  Please,” she says, not dissembling.  She desperately needs to come. 

 

He puts one hand behind each of her knees and parts her legs as far as they will go.  Then he takes her in one firm thrust. Hermione cries out, but it is pleasure, not pain in the sound. 

 

“Such a good girl,” has croons, pulling all the way out to thrust in again, and again, and again.  She moans loudly at each of his thrusts.  

 

Severus want to fuck her like this forever, but too soon he feels his orgasm building again.  He splays his hand out over her belly, reaching down with his thumb to graze her clit.  Careful not to apply too much pressure to the sensitive nub, he flicks his thumb across it in rhythm with his thrusts.  It’s a bit awkward in this position, but if he can angle up just a bit-

 

“Oh my fucking GODS, Severus!”

 

_ Five…  four…  three…   _ “You are so fucking beautiful with my cock shoved inside you,” he says to her, and she comes apart beneath him.  Her orgasm is loud and messy and undignified as she thrashes and bucks against him.  

 

When she regains control of her limbs he reaches down and wraps her legs around his hips, pulling her up to meet him.  He kisses her lips, pressing into her gently, enjoying one more moment of exquisite controlled pleasure before before he lets himself follow her. 

 

“I’m going to come inside you now, sweetheart,” he says gently. 

 

She nods up at him.  “Please.”

 

He reaches down and pulls her hips tight against his as he reaches his shuddering release.  Hermione clings to him tightly, her moans echoing his. 


End file.
